Passing Notes
by Dresupi
Summary: Hermione and Oliver have been keeping up a tentative correspondance for a while, meeting one another for dinner once a year, sending each other owls... And now, suddenly Oliver invites her to his place for dinner. It's hard for Hermione not to read between the lines. One Shot. Post Hogwarts. Not Epilogue compliant. Bg Hinny. Hermione/Oliver. Big Fluff Monster.


**I wrote this as part of my 1980s Song Prompt Event on tumblr. thestarfishdancer prompted this one. The song is 'Heaven' by Bryan Adams (1984). It is cross posted on tumblr and ao3. (I'm Dresupi everywhere).**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The owl tapped impatiently on the glass of her office window.

Hermione rose to let it in. It was a tawny. And quite young. She knew exactly what the return address on the letter would say.

A quick glance at the calendar on her desk told her that it was indeed about that time. The Quidditch season had just ended. And every year for the past six, she'd gotten a letter of similar contents.

She broke the seal, and unfolded the parchment to Oliver Wood's surprisingly neat script.

 _ _Hello Hermione.__ __I know we usually meet each other for dinner at the Cauldron, but I thought this year it might be nice to host you in my home. I hope this letter reaches you well. Please respond at your earliest convenience.__ __-O. Wood__

Her eyebrows rose. Dinner in his home? That was rather…intimate. Especially for a couple of old friends who met up once a year.

She tried not to let her heart read something her brain couldn't find evidence for.

It was difficult, given her longstanding fondness for Oliver. Ginny often accused her of fancying him.

But fancying was for teenagers, wasn't it? She'd 'fancied' Ron and look where it got her: Divorced at twenty-two and a studio flat in Muggle London that she shared with Crookshanks. She was twenty-seven and she lived with her cat.

So no. She'd never admit to 'fancying' Oliver Wood. Or anything of the sort.

Of course, her refusal to admit simply cemented the knowledge in Ginny's eyes. Considering all the sly looks she gave Harry whenever Hermione mentioned Oliver.

And it wasn't that she mentioned him all that often. She simply brought him up if the topic called for it. And with Ginny playing Quidditch professionally as well, the topic came up more often than not.

This was all Ginny's fault to begin with. She was the one who had invited Oliver to the Weasley's Christmas celebration. If it hadn't been for that, Hermione would have never started up a correspondence with him.

Where was she?

Oh yes. Fondness. She had a fondness for Oliver. Nothing more.

She pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped her quill in the inkwell to write out a quick response.

 _ _Oliver,__ __I've been well, and I hope to hear something similar from you. Dinner at your home sounds lovely. When shall we plan it? My next few weeks are fairly full up, I do have Thursday free this week, however.__ __Hermione__

She fed the owl and attached the letter to its leg, giving it a swift pat on the head before opening the window and allowing it free again.

Summoning a stack of paperwork she'd been sent by the Ministry, she began to slog through the worst part of her job. And she normally liked paperwork.

She received her response from Oliver before she left for the day.

 _ _H,__ __Thursday sounds perfect. I'll see you at seven.__ __-O__

She scribbled off a quick acceptance note at the bottom of his, sending it back with the owl and leaving for the day, a smile on her face as the butterflies in her stomach all took flight at once.

She saw a visit with Ginny in her near future.

* * *

"You're KIDDING. He's having you over for dinner at his place?" Ginny was practically giddy. "Did you hear that, Harry?" she reached over to nudge his elbow.

He smirked and shook his head. "It's about time…"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really, Harry? Not you too…"

"It's been six years, 'Mione…he's been pining after you for six whole years," Ginny insisted.

"Who says he's been pining? Did you ask him?" She laughed. "No, you have not." Ginny and Harry exchanged a look which Hermione chose to ignore. " _ _No,__ you have __not__ ," she repeated.

"Well, first things first…what are you going to wear?" Ginny asked. "And please don't say you're wearing whatever you wear to work…"

Hermione pressed her lips together. "Step all over what I was going to say, why don't you?"

"Oh Hermione, no!"

* * *

She sighed as she straightened her dress for what felt like the fiftieth time. It was blue. Ginny insisted that Hermione looked amazing in blue.

She'd drawn the line at taming her hair, however. Ginny had been satisfied by her promise to braid it. And she had to admit…she looked rather lovely with it like this.

It was nearly seven so she started to make her way to her fireplace. Her stomach was in knots. She wasn't exactly sure the reason, but she wanted to say it was Ginny's fault. With all her 'pining' talk. Oliver Wood wasn't pining.

She had to chuckle at the pun, and that relaxed her sufficiently.

She disliked traveling by floo, but there was nothing for it. Oliver didn't live in London, and it would take hours to get to his home the muggle way.

Moments later, she stumbled out of Oliver's fireplace and into his living room. She dusted off her dress and hair.

"Hermione? Is that you?"

She patted her legs one last time before answering. "Yes, it's me?"

He entered the room on crutches, and she suddenly realized his reason for wanting her to come to his home. She felt foolish, and quickly started trying to think up a reason why she was dressed like she was. And it was suddenly apparent just how much she'd been looking forward to this evening.

Maybe there was something more to her feelings for Oliver. More than she'd been admitting at any rate.

"You look… _ _beautiful__ , Granger." He smiled.

She couldn't help but return the expression. "You look…" she trailed off, unsure what to say. He looked handsome. Carefree despite the crutches. "I…" she clutched her purse to the front of her. "I feel I may have misinterpreted why you asked me here."

"Oh?" He moved towards her. "Why do ya think I asked ya here?"

Her mouth opened and closed. "I…I let someone else's opinion sway my decisions…and I apologize. I think…" She took a step back towards the fireplace. "Perhaps I should just go home…we could do this another night. I'll move my schedule around…or something?"

"Hermione. Wait…" The crutches creaked as he moved towards her. "I don't think you've misinterpreted anything…I'm just…shit at this sort of thing…"

Her heart was beating very loudly. "Me too," she admitted.

"Might be why it's taken us six years to get it right, eh?"

"Possibly."

He licked his lips and grinned. "I'm… I'm afraid I'm as close as I can get without stepping on you…"

"Oh right… of course…" Hermione's feet started moving. And she proceeded to do something she hadn't realized she wanted to do up until this exact moment. She did something completely unlike her.

And it was absolutely lovely.

She closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as her lips met his. He tasted of tea and cinnamon. A hint of something herbal. Basil or thyme, perhaps? Honestly, she didn't care exactly what he tasted like, it was pleasant.

Kissing Oliver was… __very__ pleasant.

Extraordinarily pleasant.

Heavenly.

* * *

 **If you liked it, leave me something lovely in the comments! *hearts***


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